


Little Boy Blue

by springsnow



Series: b i g s t r o n g f a m i l y [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bed-Wetting, Brotherly Bonding, Childhood Trauma, Crying, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Night Terrors, Non-Sexual Age Play, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, Sort Of, Stuffed Toys, Troubled Child Pete Dunne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 22:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18748060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springsnow/pseuds/springsnow
Summary: Pete has problems, and Trent wants to help. But whether Pete willlethim help is another matter entirely.





	Little Boy Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is more or less a prequel to 'Right Now', although you don't need to have read that to be able to understand this one. I put this under the WWE category even though it's set pre-WWE since it was just the easiest way of doing things. Major trigger warning for brief but vivid depictions of past child abuse. Other than that, enjoy.

_”You stupid boy!” A hand connected roughly with Pete’s face, knocking him to the floor. “You stupid, clumsy, selfish little boy!”_

_“Daddy, no! Please, daddy, please, I’m sorry—”_

_“Shut your fucking mouth! Did I say you could talk?!”_

_A kick, aimed squarely at his ribs, sent him sprawling. Pete screamed in pain. He couldn’t even sit up; he tried to crawl away, but to no avail._

_“You get back here and face your father! Look me in the eye and take it like a man!”_

_Pete sobbed brokenly into his arms. He just wanted it to stop. Please, please, just let it all stop—_

Pete jolted awake with a gasp. It took him almost a full ten seconds to readjust, but when he did, he was able to relax a little; he wasn’t _back there_ with _him_. He was in a hotel room with Trent and Tyler. A crummy one, admittedly, but Pete would’ve accepted a dilapidated shack infested with cockroaches over _back there_.

But oh, it had felt real. It always did. The blows still managed to hurt, and despite his best efforts, Pete felt more tears sliding down his face.

 _Don’t let them see you cry,_ a harsh voice in the back of his head warned—a voice that sounded an awful lot like _him_.

The bedsheets were wet. He screwed his eyes shut in disgust. Of course. Of fucking course the one fucking night he’d had to share a bed with Tyler (Trent had graciously taken the couch), he’d piss himself. He couldn’t just change the bedsheets this time—not without waking Tyler, anyway, and dear _god_ he did _not_ want Tyler waking up and seeing what he’d done. At least it was mostly on his side.

Some small, hidden part of himself envied Tyler and Trent. He’d known about their…arrangement, or whatever the fuck else you wanted to call it, for about six months now. At first, he’d found it weird—what kind of grown man, even one as young as Tyler, chose to unwind by pretending to be a child?—but he’d adjusted to it fairly quickly. In a way, he supposed, it was kind of…nice. The way Trent would ruffle Tyler’s hair and tell him what a good job he’d done and what a brave little guy he was after a match, or the way he’d hug him and kiss his forehead and wipe his tears away when he was upset. And sometimes, in some of his worse moments, Pete would close his eyes and imagine Trent doing the same for him. And that was the worst part, because the shame that came with it was actively painful. Pete didn’t know why; he could talk openly and unabashedly about his weirdest sexual fantasies, but wanting to be hugged and told he was a good boy was what caused him the most shame?

Jesus Christ, he was fucked up. 

He climbed out of bed and walked as quietly as possible to the tiny en-suite bathroom to clean himself up. He peeled his wet pyjamas off, discarding them on the floor, and turned the shower head on full blast. He sat in the bath, knees tucked to his chest, the water raining down on him. It was just the wrong side of too hot, but Pete was too out of it to care. The tears had stopped for now, the burning shame and anger replaced by a numb, empty chill.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard a gentle knock at the door. “Pete?” Trent. “Pete, bab, are you alright?”

Pete shut his eyes. _Ignore him and he’ll go away,_ the voice from earlier whispered. Not likely. Trent was a persistent bastard, especially when it came to making sure that the others were alright.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Pete said, in a small, weak voice. The door creaked open, and there was Trent in his boxers and an old t-shirt, his hair sticking up and a look of concern on his face.

“Oh, Pete,” he sighed. “Let’s get the shower off, alright? You’re gonna scald yourself.” He reached over the tub and switched the shower head off, before handing Pete a towel and folding his arms. “Now, what’s wrong?”

Pete couldn’t bring himself to look up at him. He twisted the towel uselessly in his hands. He wanted so badly to reach out, to let Trent hold and comfort and baby him like he saw him do with Tyler, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t let down the psychological defences he’d spent so long building and he hated himself for it. He hated himself for that and he hated himself for secretly wanting to be allowed to do what Tyler did, to just pretend he was a little kid again, but this time with a dad who wouldn’t scream and shout and beat him half to death for closing the door too loudly. He just wanted to be able to let go of all the bullshit and adult responsibilities, to clear his mind of everything crowded into it, and just fucking _relax_ for five minutes.

But that wasn’t Pete’s style. So instead of accepting the olive branch offered by Trent, he doubled down. “Fuck off,” he muttered, almost instinctively. “Don’t need you to take care of me.”

_Please, Trent, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I’m just so scared and I hate myself and can you please just hold me and let me cry because I really need it right now and you’re always so good to me and I never return it and I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself—_

Trent sighed again. He didn’t look even remotely offended. “I’m not asking to be allowed to take care of you,” he said softly. “I just want you to realise that you need help.”

Pete finally found it in him to be able to meet Trent’s gaze, and that was what did it. Trent _cared_. Pete had never had anyone in his life who cared about him as much as Trent did, and he could see his concern for him written clear as day on his face—there was no malice or anger or even a hint of frustration, like there always was with the adults who were meant to be taking care of Pete when he was younger.

And the tears began again.

Something inside of Pete broke. It crumbled away like rotting wood and let in something new and fresh and terrifying and exhilarating, like ice-cold sea water rushing in to flood an old shipwreck. Without even thinking about it, he reached out for Trent, the way a child would reach out for their mother or father to be comforted and cuddled after falling over and scraping their knee. Trent helped him up and, despite the fact he was still soaking wet, hugged him as he cried. It was a broken, raw, distraught, angry sort of crying, and the most cleansing cry Pete had had in…well, probably ever. He sobbed desperately into Trent’s shoulder and the whole time, Trent gently rubbed his back and stroked his hair, and despite his anguish, Pete felt…safe. Warm. Like he was where he was meant to be.

He didn’t remember much about the rest of the night. He remembered Tyler sitting on the edge of their bed, looking worried, and he remembered dry, fresh sheets, and he remembered a hand—big and strong and calloused, but gentle—stroking his hair and face before tucking him in.

And he fell into a deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep.

==

“Can we talk about last night?”

Pete nearly dropped the bottle of water he was holding. He blinked dumbly at Trent, mouth open slightly.

“What?” he asked.

“I just want to talk about…what happened.”

Pete slumped lower in his seat. He’d been dreading this. He’d actually been feeling kind of gross all morning, the old shame returning to belittle him for letting his guard down and allowing Trent to take care of him. “Fine,” he muttered.

“If you want to join in with me and Tyler, then that’s fine,” Trent said gently. “But I thought maybe you’d want to…discuss it a little first.”

Pete grunted. Trent sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Pete, c’mon. It’s healthy to talk about this stuff. And you know I’m not going to judge.”

“I know,” Pete mumbled, picking at a loose piece of upholstery on the car seat. “But it’s like… _I_ can’t stop judging _myself_.”

“Why?”

Pete shrugged. “It’s like there’s this thing in my head that keeps telling me _this is wrong and you’re being weird_. Is that normal?”

“Define ‘normal’,” Trent said. “I suppose it’s normal to think it’s a bit…taboo. It takes a while to get over that.”

He reached out and gently patted Pete’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Pete. If you don’t want to go any further with this, it’s fine, but I think it could help.”

“Thanks,” Pete said thickly. Tyler was running back to the car through the rain. “Will he mind?”

“I shouldn’t think so. It might be nice to have someone else join in.”

Pete managed to smile. Maybe this could be good for him. Maybe it could shut that horrible little voice up for a while. Maybe this was something he needed.

==

_What the fuck are you doing? You’re a grown man. Stop this shit._

“Pete? Are you OK?”

Pete looked up from the colouring book and tried to smile without any noticeable success.

“’M OK,” he lied. Tyler frowned. Trent had gone to the shop down the road; the rain had abated for now, but there was more black cloud building outside.

“Are you sure? You looked kinda sad.”

“I, um…” Pete exhaled slowly. “I was just thinking about my dad, I guess.”

Tyler nodded understandingly. “It’s OK, Pete. You’re away from him now. Do you want a hug?”

“No thanks,” Pete said thickly. He liked the idea of a hug, but he was too tense right now.

Tyler nodded again and went back to colouring in a dragon. Pete ran a hand through his hair. Was he really that fucked up that he couldn’t even do some colouring without his brain screaming at him?

 _Fuck it_ , he thought suddenly, viciously, and leaned down, touching the bright yellow pencil to the paper. He hadn’t coloured since—well, since he was a little kid, and maybe by now he’d be able to stay inside the lines a little better. Not that it really mattered; he wasn’t being commissioned by the Louvre. It was a cartoon drawing of a lion.

As he swept the pencil across the page, he could feel his mind starting to…relax. His body slowly felt less and less tense as he coloured, and he found it somehow frightening and thrilling at the same time. He was so used to always being in control that the feeling of…well, _not_ being in control was completely alien. But at the same time, it was _nice_. It was a relief.

By the time Trent got back, Pete’s thumb was tucked in his mouth and he was sitting cross-legged, hair hanging in his face, completely absorbed in his colouring. The sight of it made him smile; it was the first time he’d seen Pete completely relaxed and at ease. This had been a good idea, he decided. He just hoped that what he’d bought wasn’t a step too far.

“Hi, dad,” Tyler said. Trent crouched down next to him and Pete and ruffled Tyler’s hair. He didn’t touch Pete just yet; they hadn’t had a chance to talk about physical limits, and if grown-up Pete was iffy about being touched, then Trent could only imagine that little Pete would have similar issues.

“Hey, Ty. How are you and Pete getting on?”

“Alright,” Tyler replied. “Pete’s really good at colouring.”

Pete looked up. There was something bright and uncomplicated in his normally stormy eyes, and it made Trent’s chest feel warm. It was refreshing to see Pete’s face unclouded by suppressed anger and frustration.

“You doing alright there, bab?” Trent asked gently. Pete said nothing in response, but he smiled a little, and Trent’s heart just about melted. He was so sweet like this. “I got you a little present.”

“Present?” Pete echoed, eyes brightening. Even his voice was different—softer, somehow. Younger.

“Mm-hm. Here you go.” Trent retrieved the tissue paper-wrapped parcel from the carrier bag and handed it to him. Pete unwrapped it carefully, and when he saw what was inside, his breath caught in his throat. His mouth formed a small ‘o’ shape as he turned it over in his hands; a stuffed lion cub, big enough to be cuddled, small enough to be tucked away at the bottom of a suitcase without anyone noticing it.

“I hope I’m not overstepping,” Trent continued. “But I saw it and thought I knew someone who’d like it.”

Pete’s teeth worried his lower lip. Trent inhaled. This was either very, very good, or very, very bad. He got his answer when Pete hugged the stuffed lion cub tight to his chest and buried his nose in its soft fur.

“Thank you,” he said. “I love it.”

“You’re welcome, love.” Trent shifted so that he was sitting next to Pete. Pete leaned against his shoulder, still hugging the stuffed lion. “What are you going to call him?”

“Simba,” Pete said, not even hesitating. He was playing with the toy’s ears. Trent looked up at Tyler, and was relieved to see that he was smiling affectionately. He’d been a little worried about how Tyler would react to the sudden ingress of someone else into their little dynamic, but so far, he seemed to have taken to it well.

He didn’t bother with the _say thank you_ pushing. Pete seemed a little fragile like this; he didn’t need that on top of everything else. Experimentally, he wrapped an arm around Pete’s shoulders, and Pete leaned into it. His thumb was back in his mouth. The three of them sat like that for a while, Tyler colouring and humming softly to himself, Pete snuggled up to Trent with his thumb in his mouth, Simba tucked against his chest, as outside, the rain began to fall again.

==

Pete woke up in a cold sweat, the phantom kicks and punches still echoing their pain on his ribs and back and shoulders. He looked at the dusty digital clock on the nightstand; just after midnight.

His pyjamas were wet again.

He switched the lamp on and reached out for Simba, who was lying on the other side of the bed. He picked him up and held him close, burying his nose in the soft fur. He smelled warm and familiar. Like Trent.

Pete’s eyes drifted to his phone. _If you need anything, whatever time it is, I’ll be there. Just call_ , Trent’s soft voice echoed in his head.

 _Going crying to another man because of one bad dream?_ another voice sneered, but before it could say anything else, Pete had reached over and grabbed the phone.

It rang for a very long time before Trent answered. His voice was thick with sleep and he sounded barely awake.

“ _Pete, what’s wrong?_ ”

“Um—” Pete was suddenly frozen. What did he say? _Hi, Trent, I had another nightmare and pissed myself again._

“ _Bad dreams again?_ ”

“Y-yeah.”

“ _Oh, Pete._ ” On the other end of the line, Pete heard Trent shift, followed by a faint click. “ _Alright. Was it about your dad again?_ ”

“Yeah. But, um…it was different this time.”

“ _Different?_ ”

“Mm. He was…he was yelling at me that I was useless and pathetic. B-because I can’t act like a grown man.”

“ _Well, we both know that’s not true, don’t we?_ ” Trent was starting to sound a little more awake now. “ _You’re not weak or pathetic or useless, Pete. You’re a very strong young man. There’s nothing wrong with what you’ve been doing with me and Tyler._ ”

Pete took a deep breath and licked his lips. “Trent?”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Can…um, c-can I call you daddy?” Pete screwed his eyes shut, his cheeks burning.

“ _Of course you can, bab._ ”

“Thank you.”

“ _It’s alright. Do you need to get yourself cleaned up?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _OK. You go do that, and then how about I read you a story?_ ”

“Yes please, daddy.” The word still felt a little strange on Pete’s adult tongue, especially directed at Trent, but like the rest of it, it was…nice. It felt right.

“ _That’s a good lad, saying please. Go get yourself cleaned up, then._ ”

Pete went through to the bathroom and changed out of his damp pyjama pants, leaving them in the laundry basket. He washed himself down then padded back through to the bedroom, fishing a dry pair of shorts out of the dresser and stripping off the wet bedsheet—he could sleep on the undersheet for tonight; it was still dry—before climbing back under the duvet. He picked the phone up.

“’M back.”

“ _All sorted out?_ ”

“Yeah.”

Trent made an impressed noise. “ _Such a big, responsible boy, aren’t you? I bet you didn’t even get scared._ ”

Pete giggled—actually _giggled_. When did he last _giggle_? He hugged Simba close to his chest with his free hand. “Nuh-uh.”

“ _That’s my brave baby boy. Not scared of anything, not even the dark._ ”

“Nope. ’M never scared,” Pete said proudly. He could feel his mind slipping back into that comfortable, relaxed place again, and it made it easy to play along. On the other end of the line, Trent chuckled affectionately. It was a low, soft sound that made Pete’s whole body feel warm and tingly, and he could almost imagine Trent right here with him, cuddling him and stroking his hair.

“ _Of course not. Now, how about that story?_ ”


End file.
